


Don't Let The Clown Bite

by Ghospice



Series: Pennywise/Reader Oneshots [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Circus, F/M, Horror, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 01:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18539818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghospice/pseuds/Ghospice
Summary: "W-what-t wha-t...are y-you doing-g?" The urge to scream is only fought down by pure survival instinct, letting you know that would be a terrible idea."So rude to Pennywise you were."His snow white fingers tap in a pattern against your leg, making you flinch."But you can make it up to me."





	Don't Let The Clown Bite

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't intend to finish this on Easter, but as i did,,,Happy Easter? If this is your sort of thing?? Hope you enjoy!

You had just finished the starting act, perspiration beading your skin, the sound of applause following you off the stage. Your chest was heaving but pride lit up your insides with satisfaction. A good start meant a good show. First impressions and all that. The audience would forgive anything after you had them hooked.

As the myriad of lights and cheers faded, you realised just how thirsty you were. You passed a few other performers with a friendly greeting, making your way out the back of the tent.

As you turned a corner you came face to chest with another performer. You back up a step, and as you look up with an apology on your lips, the words shrivel and die.

It's the new guy. 

He's wearing a silver suit with drops of ruby red for buttons, and his face is tattooed with an awful upward grin. It's fucking creepy, even for a clown. But what's worse is you're sure he knows that.

"Uhh...sorry I, sorry-" you make an awkward shuffle to go around him, trying to squeeze your stomach in to create as much space around the guy as possible. He's more narrow then wide, but in that four foot space of corridor it's no where near enough.

You've almost escaped when his voice seeps out behind, high and awful.

"I saw you. Flying on those flimsy little ropes." He hasn't moved to face you but his eyes burn holes into your body, with an unsettling intensity.

"Yeah that's what I do, always have..." you chuckle nervously, eyes darting to the dark flooring. A slip of grass tickles your ankle.

"It was good," he continues, and you can here genuine awe in his next words. "Like you were floating."

Okay. Time to fucking go.

"...thanks. Well, good luck with your show."

You're already walking backwards, fully intent to end this little interaction before it went further, when something stops you.

Your limbs freeze. Eyes widening in surprise you look back to find him still staring, the red slashes on his face look almost black under the dull florescent lights. He's still smiling.

Your skin crawls and you briefly wonder why no other performers have walked past in a while. Didn't the next act start?

"How kind. How sweet. But I don't need luck, little girl."

You balk at his words. The nerve! It's then that your limbs seem to unstick themselves from their sudden stiffness. His eyes linger, gleaming at you before he turns away with a grin. A weight seems to leave you with his gaze. 

Sweet relief fills you. As well as irritation.

The creepy asshole was full of himself, and in the short time he'd been here, you've counted yourself lucky to have not bumped into him until now.

But you couldn't let that go. Later you'd reflect on the mistake, but the full horror of it was beyond you in that moment.

"I think you do, actually," you spit out, "But at least you know how to use helium. Try save some for the balloons."

You see him go still, but you're already out the corridor, rushing out the flapping sheet cover to outside. You speed walk as fast as possible, not because your giddy and nervous at all. Sometimes it just felt great to get the last word in. 

Hopefully you won't bump into the freak again. You just had to avoid the times the clown performers went on stage. Which was weird, actually, as you didn't recall any of your clown co workers coming on after the acrobats in the usual schedule.

But he was new, having only joined for temp, while the circus was in Derry. A few performers had gotten a real nasty bug here and had to take time off. Given how he dressed, you suspected he did more then just jokes and balloon animals. But you were never sure on the details and no one really talked about him beyond hushed whispers. He just had a strange vibe. You'd be glad when he left.

Heading over to your white linen tent, you're glad to see it's managed to catch the sun, heating up the insides for a while. Nearby are rows and rows of more tents, most shared, but you liked your privacy and had requested to be separate. A couple of the girls you performed with were lazing outside the next tent over, so you went to them after grabbing some food.

_-_  


The day progressed well, with minimal problems in your performance. 

Each show was its own workout, and you thoroughly enjoyed the in between breaks where you could bake in the summer heat. Hopefully it would lead to a nice, lukewarm night.

It was chilly when you finally were done for the day, but your costume could be part to blame. It's garish glitter and colours only framed a...small part of your body. But it made fast movement a breeze, which was the point. 

You got changed into loose pyjamas, freshly cleaned lemon yellow shorts and a long top. You were always getting cold arms and warm legs. But right now everywhere was cold, so you made sure to pin the tent doors shut, though this didn't manage to completely cover the entrance. 

You lay on the soft, lumpy bedding placed on the floor. It was surprisingly cosy, given how much the thing moved about with you and how much terrain it had seen. You sigh and snuggle deeper into the grey sheets, trying to warm them up as a trickle of cool air hovers inside the tent.

Distantly you can hear voices, others partying late with the local Derry population, while some like yourself settled in for the night. You listened to the muffled chatting of tents nearby, hushed and gentle among the encroaching darkness. A sweet scent catches your nose, the smell of candied food that someone was undoubtedly munching in bed. Footsteps tap by as a silhouette passes, almost completely blending in with the dark.

Slowly your eyelids lower, relaxing into the normal sounds of your life, body getting closer to unconscious.

The voices weaken, and everything melds together as you drift away. Your eyes shut.

_-_  


A soft groan escapes you, when your wake just hours later, tired and confused. 

It takes real effort to drag open your eyes, to be greeted by silence. Not a sound from your neighbours, who must of returned and gone to bed hours ago. You consider checking your phone for the time, but the bright screen would only wake you further. With a huff you roll over on your side, staring meaninglessly at the small stitching of tent illuminated by moonlight.

The smell of sugary sweets is really strong, so you figure the girls closest to you had a food buffet inside their tent. But fuck if it didn't irritate your nose. Had they smoked candy sticks or something? Now that you really focused on it, your realised it smelt more like cotton candy. You could practically taste the airy pink puffs on your tongue. 

You were distracted then by something else. There must have been a breeze outside, because the fabric of your tent tipped inwards, the crevice of the opening letting in a crack of white light. You trembled and shut your eyes, feeling exhaustion for a moment, but the blinked open again when you heard a sound.

It was a soft, silky sound, and you looked forwards towards the entry, eyebrows furrowed at what you saw.

The tents closed flaps were being pushed inwards, not by wind, but by a clear, definable hand. The bottom must have been open already because it parted easily and the outline of digits from the other side breached the entrance. 

Your stomach clenched and you almost gasped. It was only because this had happened before that you didn't instantly yell out. 

Sometimes people went to the wrong tent. Drunk off their ass, or they took a midnight piss. It happens. So your fully willing to whisper out to the person first but then the hand, moving slowly and with purpose, pulls open the flap.

Shock and stunned silence is all you can manage. The face that meets you at the entrance to your tent is ghostly white and horribly familiar. It's like staring into a living nightmare. The dark lines of his painted lips are lifted up into a sickening grin.

"Wakey wakey sleepy head."

Your insides drop, mouth gapes open at him, hands pulling your flimsy quilt cover up to your neck. You rush to sit up as you hiss out at him, horrified and angry at once.

"What the fuck are you doing?" 

Of all the people to end up looking in your tent this guy was the last you wanted on that list.

You don't raise your voice above a mad whisper, hoping this weirdo was just playing a creepy joke. You hated causing a scene. 

He doesn't answer at first, eyes steady and still, almost black in the diminished light. A smirk curls at his lips, and there's something that feels so otherworldly about him then, that you could almost believe he was-

Was something-

Alien. Beyond your understanding. And just where the hell did that thought even come from?

Your entire body feels heavy and rigid, unease creeping in as the seconds tick by. You're waiting for his answer, for something, anything. And suddenly he moves.

He climbs forward into the small space, large body moving unnaturally quiet. He moves like some kind of creepy mannequin, limbs stretching and pulling himself through in long, odd motions.

A scream builds in your throat as you realise that this wasn't friendly or a joke. He had crossed a line and you were beginning to think you might be in danger. Primal terror gripped you then but as you tried to cry out, you found your jaw tightly shut. 

Like it had been bolted down, your teeth clenched involuntarily. All you could manage was a muffled, pathetic shriek that stayed caged in your throat. What the hell was happening? Were you having a panic attack?

All the while he watches with a smile. The silvery suit glimmers but his eyes are on _fire_. It's no trick of the light. They're searing flame surrounding a black hole. They capture your attention so strongly that for a moment you forget about your jaw or how close he's suddenly gotten. 

"Pennywise came to see you," his voice is squeaky, like he's trying to mimic a child, but purposefully failing. "Aren't you _special?_ "

You've never even heard that name until now, but as you do something twists into your brain, like a puzzle piece forcing itself to slot into place. The name felt right and wrong and horrible.

You crawl backwards into the tent wall, desperate to get away if you can't yell out. Before your head touches the thin fabric, his gloved hand shoots out to grip your ankle. You thrash and scream in your throat.

 _'Get off get off get the fuck off!’_ Your heart is galloping and you've never felt so helpless.

"Enough! Stupid woman." His snapping is accompanied by pinching as his fingers tighten around your leg. His nails feel sharp, biting into the delicate skin. You pant, wheezing through your teeth, watching him with trepidation. His voice so vile, returns to its sickly sweet tone. 

"Quiet and listen."

He's hovering above you with a look of excitement. This is further cemented by the warm patter of saliva that hits your exposed leg. Your stomach floods with revulsion. On some level you've begun to accept that this guy-this clown...is not human. It’s crazy but you have no other way to explain what's going on. His next words confirm it. 

"Do you want to speak, little girl?" 

The mocking tone doesn't even bring a spark of anger, so cowed you are by fear. You shakily nod. 

And your mouth relaxes. Likes strings cut loose from a doll, your jawbones ache but you can move them. You take a startled gasp, mouth hung in an o shape. The clown thing watches you with interest in his lidded eyes.

"Don't scream," he whispers fervently, "I can be nice, very nice." He lazily drags a pointed fingertip up your ankle, "if you are good."

"W-what-t wha-t...are y-you doing-g?" The urge to scream is only fought down by pure survival instinct, letting you know that would be a terrible idea.

"So rude to Pennywise you were." His eyes meet yours with a sneer, lips pulled back to show feral teeth, "Arrogant. I could smell it." 

His snow white fingers tap in a pattern against your leg, making you flinch.

"But you can make it up to me."

You can hear the underlying threat of his menacing voice, thick with hunger. But he makes it very clear for you anyway.

“If not?" He inspects his fingers, now with dark, serrated claws peeking through the torn cloth.

"The urge to rip out your throat... might become too much, little thing."

He moves closer then, and your legs lays stiff and shivering beside him as he looks down on you.

When he's certain you won't move, his fingers trail up your goose bump ridden flesh, velvet and warm as they trace a line up to your shorts.

You gulp grimly as your heart flutters in your chest. The buzz of anxiety feels as heavy as his lingering palm. 

You don't like pain, and you don't want to die. You repeat this reasoning like a mantra as you lay placidly below him.

In a move that seems entirely too gentle, they dip below the hem of your shorts. He hums low in his throat as his fingers find what he's seeking, and you flinch as he touches your soft mound. You feel a pang of worry when you think of those pointed nails. 

He giggles loud and sharp within the suffocatingly small space. He looks so amused at your discomfort as his fingertips tickle your soft hair below, causing you to suck in air harshly.

Moving further they slither down to your slit, circling the area with maddening slowness. You squirm and bite on your tongue, the sickness in your belly at odds with your bodies reactions to the stimulation. Then he's dipping inside you, his fingers long and soft in the tight heat. 

"There we are." As if distracted by the sensations he shudders, panting loudly as his fingers fill more of your cunt. You hold a whine deeply inside. "So lovely...so warm."

You can feel your cheeks redden with embarrassment as this stranger violates you, and the fear of what he might do remains a constant thought beyond your arousal. You turn your head away, but somehow the sounds of his excitement and his touches are a millions times worse.

"Don't look away from _me_." His hand grips your jaw and jerks your head back. 

His golden eyes are manic. Sharp incisors that look long and wide in his open mouth as he breathes rapidly. Then the corners of his lips lift into that abominable grin. You whimper and fidget under the tight hold.

"...please," you raise a hand to his but think better of it, as his gaze flicks quickly to your rising limb. He'd probably tear it off.

"Please she says, oh please!" As he mocks you he withdraws his wet fingers from your silky core. 

He holds your face with those same fingers, damp against your pale cheek. You can smell yourself. "But _she_ promised." His angular forms moves over you then, a large thigh pushes between your legs as he bends over, entrapping you in a wall of grey and grinning red.

"She was bad." His voice drops deep, growling and demonic, "A very bad girl." 

"But now she'll make Pennywise feel so good.”

You should fight this, but his hands are on you again, and they claw desperately at your pyjamas. You yelp as he leaves thin lines of red in his wake, slim cuts that have his nostrils flaring and a new river of spit dribbles down his chin. His eyes are a solar eclipse, large and black. But at the scent of blood they narrow like a felines. 

A pit drops into your stomach as you wonder if you'll survive this.

The linen of your clothes is in tatters and you shiver in your nude state, trying to curl inwards. The clown moves in close, covering you with unintended heat. His hot breath tickles your skin before something wet and warm touches you. You realise it's his tongue, as he licks up along your collarbone. He’s licking your wounds, causing little jolts of stinging pain. 

While his tongue tastes your skin his lower half presses closer, making something thick and bulky press against your entrance. 

"Ah!" You squeak as he rubs against you more firmly, the bulging silk nudging you incessantly, and you can't help the tremors that light up your cunt. His suit is dampening with your arousal. As his lips trail down your throat approaching a swollen nipple, you can't help but widen your thighs further apart. An unconscious invitation as need burns through you. He pauses.

"Feel good, little thing?" 

Then his mouth is on your breast, devouring and sucking at your flesh. His teeth ground gently, almost threateningly around the peaked bud. It knocks the wind from you as you cry out weakly, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. You couldn't help it, and your shame was becoming second place to the dripping heat between your legs.

It's then the stiff length against your core squirms. 

Your whole body jumps in fright against him but he pays no mind. Fear douses the building excitement in you, clearing your mind as you take notice of the sudden, alienating feeling of something writhing against you, like it was a separate entity, protruding from his body. 

You panic and try to slide your hips up and away, but he bears down, rumbling against the slickness of your wet skin. His length moves frantically against its barrier of clothing which you are grateful for. But then it wiggles upwards and by accident touches your clit. You freeze as pleasure shoots through you, derailing any effort you made to move away. 

You lay still once again, eyes staring upwards. Spikes of fiery ginger hair still line your vision, his head bobbing up and down with his exploration of your chest. 

You murmur soft little whines and whimpers under your breath, trying to keep them to yourself as to not encourage him any more. That thick and serpent like movement from below his layers of cloth compelled you. But its hard. His touches continue to push you into a state of anticipation despite your mind fighting against the inevitable.

The slick appendage lathering at your sensitive skin stops. The chalk white of his skin looming into view as he pulls himself up, eyes burning like a demons as he smiles down at you. And then he's kneeling again, as when he first entered your tent. 

His hands dart out to grip your hips, yanking you down against his crotch, which you jerk and fight against, until his fingers push down into your skin. Not with claws, but with a concrete, bruising force that you feel in your bones. You moan in pain, instantly ceasing your fight. The threat of his unimaginable strength easily turns you submissive. 

“Do you want to float with me?”

That word rang in your mind and then it hit you, that he had spoken that morning. You feel new terror coiling in your gut at the ominous question, but without knowing what it meant or what he wanted to hear, you remain quiet, eyes meeting his for the first time in a while, desperate and afraid.

He stares back, the full power of his gaze almost too much. It makes you want to cower and hide.

He bends your legs forward then, slowly and without breaking eye contact, a devious smile lighting his lips. He presses them as far as they can go, bent so that he can press as close as possible. He lets go and takes a claw to his suit, tearing a thin seam effortlessly though his lower half. Your legs remain bent, held by that unknowable force he seemed to command. 

You gulp nervously as you look down his abdomen. A black, worm like appendage pokes through his trousers, a tapered tip that grows wider and wider as more peeks out.

Without much warning he lifts your hips up, holds your lower back above empty space, and then juts his own forward. You cry out as half of that disgusting thing buries its way inside you. You were already soaked before he entered, but the pure size of the thing brought a deep, sharp pain that burned your walls as your breathe stuttered. 

Your eyes drift up to the monsters face, finding for once his own bunched shut, his head tilted down at a dramatic angle, looking like a frozen statue. It was only the low rumbling that escapes his mouth to make him even seem alive.

He looks overcome by the feelings of pleasure. As much as it made you sick and hate this creature, you couldn't deny the same feelings were growing in your own twisted body. Admittedly you were glad for a moment to adjust, your body aching in intimate pain.

After a moment, his eyes snap open. He moves gently at first, quickening at a steady pace that makes your body betray you with building fervour, until you're the same panting, sweating mess that he must be. 

Except he's not, because he barely appears tired, or breathless, and his speed continues to build to a vicious intensity that you begin to feel your heart pound with more then just arousal.

“We’ll float, float, float-”He repeats in a nasally voice, then with heavy grit, he growls out,“ _Together_ , yes, oh yes!” 

His brutal thrusting manages to hit something deep inside, and you screech out, in pain and pleasure as he snarls, stabbing forward with one final thrust. 

He pins you tight against his hulking frame, as you feel his release. He doesn't let go for a few minutes as you lay a shivering mess beneath him.

The tent is filled with silence as your breathing calms and you lay there uncertain of your fate. You dare not look at him, instead staring at the open flap of the tent door that gently rustles in the breeze.

A soft finger caresses your cheek, making you whimper and pull back. Your eyes don't water, but inside you feel horribly defiled, as the full weight of what occurred settles in. You await for this thing to tear into you with those same fingers that touched you so gently, but nothing happens.

You feel his face come close to your own and his mouth is against your ear, warm and smelling of sweets, and cotton candy, and popc-

“Night night, sleep tight,” He whispers and you squeeze your eyes shut then, praying for a quick end. Something pricks your skin and then a soft, smooth feeling against your lower jaw. Then its gone. 

Your eyes remain closed for the next hour, until you find the courage to look around. The tent is empty, no indication there had been another presence in there with you.

You stay up the entire remaining of night.

_-_  


In the morning you set out to leave the tent and numbly decide what your course of action will be. You tell no one of what happened, and the clown known as Pennywise is no where to be found. 

No one mentions him, nothing. Like he never existed in the first place.

You could almost believe that what happened was just a nightmare. 

If not for the marks that adorn your skin, bright red trailing wounds and a soreness that reaches depths in your body you didn't know you had.

And then, causing your entire days food contents to return up your throat, is the single red balloon that blows innocently in the wind, tied to the outside of your tent. 

Written upon it are the words, “See ya soon!”


End file.
